Rapprochement
by verfens
Summary: After the Spanish American War, Anglo-American relations start up again. But the young and growing empire will soon start to infringe on the old and stagnating one, and England won't stand for some upstart to steal his supremacy- or his heart. USUK Historical Fic!


USUK Secret Santa Gift!

RECIPIENT:Kelbora

GENRE: Action/Romance

RATINGS/WARNINGS: I guess…T for teen? I'm horrible at tagging things but, definitely cursing, some violence, and not much else.

SUMMARY: After the Spanish American War, Anglo-American relations start up again. But the young and growing empire will soon start to infringe on the old and stagnating one, and England won't stand for some upstart to steal his supremacy- or his heart.

NOTES: USUK is heavily implied but isn't endgame, though if I wrote a sequel it would be! (im trash and would probably write a sequel for this….)

XXXXX

The clock was ticking incessantly, grating needlessly on his nerves. It was a rather exquisite piece, an antique, much like himself. He checked the time again on his pocket watch, his green eyes narrowing. Perhaps it wasn't the clock that was aggravating him, but rather, the reminder of every second _he _was late to this arranged meeting.

England contemplated the door once more, musing on how long it had been since they had last seen each other for more than a passing moment. It was just over a hundred years since that damn upstart had made a fool out of him, and he sneered at the thought. Ah, but he digressed. The ticking of the clock seemed to be growing louder in the silence, and his left eye twitched.

_He_ was nearing 30 minutes late now, and England was nearing the edge of his rather formidable temper.

The year was 1899 and England was waiting for a certain nation to get off his arse and open his office door so that _he_ could get a good earful from England about the importance of timeliness in meetings.

That was when he heard the ruckus going on downstairs. He couldn't hear specifics, but he assumed it was his guest causing the pain for his poor secretary. England stood, eyes closing as he took a deep breath, and then opened them again, into his normal calculating stare.

He could show no weakness. Not again.

He artfully went out of his room, peering into the downstairs reception area. "Ah." He said, voice calm but edging on disdainful. "You are late."

The man, looking bedraggled with cracked glasses and unkempt clothing, glared up at him with darkened blue eyes. "You didn't tell me about your guard dog here, schmuck." He frowned. "And what the fuck happened to your voice?"

"Well, since this _was_ a formal meeting," England said, raising a single eyebrow in derision of the younger nations' use of slang, as well as his appearance. "I would have expected that my secretary refused to let you see me on _principle_." He scoffed. "What on earth did you do to those clothes? And your glasses?" He gave him another condescending look to hide his worry for the young man. He had heard those glasses represented a part of his land, and that was worrisome if they were damaged. "And, simply, it changed. It's much more professional sounding, and infinitely better than your unintelligent-" But he was cut off with a hand on his mouth. England scowled.

America scowled right back at him. "Cut the crap, you old windbag." He muttered lowly, before dusting off his clothes. "Let's get this over with." He pulled himself rather forcibly from the secretary's loosened grip, and started walking up to England's office.

Seeing no just reason to wait for him, England turned around, and walked straight back to his office.

America was soon sitting with him, in his office, with England starting from across his large desk. He imagined he looked rather imposing, but it didn't seem to intimidate the younger nation, which displeased him more than he would have liked to admit.

"So?" America eventually asked, staring at him with a jaded expression. "What's this all about? Yeah, y'all supported me, good for you and stuff, but what does this mean, precisely? I mean, we've not seen or spoken for more than a minute since our peace agreement for the War of 1812...?" He scrutinized England, clearly demanding an explanation.

"Perhaps," England began, looking to the window. "Perhaps it is time for us to…reconcile." America snorted, looking away as well.

"_Nice_." He muttered, "So, you gave me your support for a bargaining chip in opening relations with me again?"

England shrugged, before he gave him an unimpressed look. "America, you do realize that as nations, we are bound to our people, and as such, must obey our state?"

America made a displeased face, but nodded. "Doesn't mean I have to like it…" He muttered under his breath. England rolled his eyes.

"Don't be such a child." He stated with an air of arrogance, clearly provoking America, but the younger nation simply rolled his eyes, and fidgeted.

"Let's do this then, since you're right, it's been too long, British Empire." America put his elbows on his desk, resting his chin on his hands.

"Indeed, United States." And the boy gave him a cocky smile. Arrogant little shit.

Great Britain leaned back in his seat, figuring this would at least be of _some_ use to him.

XXXXX

The years that followed were…. _interesting_, that was certain. America was no child nation anymore. He had a tendency for the use of profanity, which caused England's haunches to rise and his hair to stand on end, but to no end. He had also developed his own closet of skeletons, which bothered him in a similar manner, but he wouldn't admit _that_ to himself.

America had his own fighting style, appearing quietly, and then beating the hell out of his enemies. The crack in his glasses was slowly fading, and with that, he was tamed slightly. America was still a complete and utterly _irredeemable_ ass to him occasionally, but was ultimately working on treating his elder with some respect.

The next time that Great Britain and America fought, they were on the same side. It was the time of the Boxer Rebellion in China. In fact, it was not just him and America, but also, Austria and Hungary (the odd couple), Germany and Prussia (Arrogant, the both of them), France (Frog), the Italian Brothers (like they'd be of use to England's interests), Russia (despite his festering social concerns) and most surprisingly, Japan (though England supposed that he wanted a piece of the Chinese prize as well).

They often discussed things together, though America seemed out of his depth with most of the European powers, preferring to stick with Japan.

As fighting broke out in China, America revealed himself to be particularly ruthless behind a mask of niceties towards China.

US Marines, along with America did a lot of the battling, but by the end of the war, all 11 representations had been fighting side by side. They were all just puppets for their states, and that was plainly clear as they feasted on China, reaping his land, despite China's begs for them to stop.

They left the once great nation in the dust, all 11 of them going to the closest camp, to celebrate their three new partners- Germany, Japan, and America.

Hungary, her hair tied back in a braid, plopped down around their fire, where they were sharing rations. She waggled her eyebrows at the exceptionally young Germany, who blushed a bit. Prussia was heard grumbling about her, forcefully placing himself between her and his little brother. The younger Italy brother was talking with France avidly, and the older one was off smoking at a distance. Austria was trying to find a place he could bathe himself from the blood he had been coated in that day, looking progressively more and more annoyed at the purposefully obstinate British soldier. America was talking with Japan in the language of nations, occasionally using bouts of English in between. Russia was sitting between America and England, looking at England with surprisingly tired eyes. He and England chatted lightly on subjects such as the weather. Well, they weren't precisely great friends. In fact…. no one in this group besides the pairs could claim any actual friendships with any of the others. And even then…the only ones who probably fully trusted one another would be…the German brothers. But even still, everyone here had their respective reasons for their conversations and dealings with each other, all entirely political ones, and that much was clear to all of them.

They were merely puppets of their states, a manifestation of their people, their _nation_.

Despite many of them sharing actual _hundreds_ of _years_ of often rather…_violent_history with one another, they barely knew each other on a personal level. England didn't even know what the French people knew France as, let alone Russia, Japan, or the others. He did, however, know _his_ human name. England had named the boy that. Now, the boy had since _soiled _the perfectly fine name of Alfred with the middle name _Freedom_, but that was allegedly due to his civil war, an interesting side note, and not his petty throw at his one-time elder brother, dare he mention it.

His precious boy had changed his last name, however. It was no longer Kirkland. England could seldom guess what the boy would have taken as his surname. Nor did he bother with those rather _silly_ thoughts. He shouldn't think of the nuisance like that any longer. America didn't deserve that much of his time, or his thoughts. He wiped his metaphorical hands of his clean of the annoyance over 100 years before.

When the last of the nations trickled away from the celebratory gathering, England was overjoyed. He had never bothered with maintaining private friendships. It was a luxury a nation simply didn't have. However, as he entered his private tent, there was a hand put on his shoulder whose owner was met with a swift punch in the nose. Profanities, and sky blue eyes glared down at England with an unimpressed look.

America reset his nose quietly. "Ah, well, nice one, Great Britain." He grumbled.

The man scowled at the younger nation, before England closed his eyes and turned up his nose. "Well, you startled me, daft fool." He pointed out, his face wrinkled up on one side, in ire.

The younger nation rolled his eyes, before plopping down on England's cot, making England's eyes squint in disbelief. Little arrogant brat. America caught on, before he gave a goofy grin. "What? I can't get a little comfort here?" He teased lightly, before he rolled over and pretended to start snoring. England huffed, indignant, and kicked over his cot, making America fall to the floor with an "oomph!"

America grumbled, frowning at him when he rolled over. "Ughhh..." He groaned. "I'm tireeeed, though, Britain!" He looked up at him indignantly.

"Ugh, if you must." He muttered. "But you're not sleeping in _my_ bed…."

America grinned up at him crookedly. "Fine, loser." He said, and tugged off his jacket, using it as a cushion for his head. He was out, as evidenced by the real snoring.

England snorted to himself, getting into bed. What ultimately surprised him was not that America had irresponsibly slept on the floor…but rather…he had stayed the night.

England wondered absently why America had stayed with him, if he knew this was happening…why did America stay? He looked to the sky, as it started burning with the early morning light.

XXXXX

As time continued onward, England's aims for his reconciliation with America became clearer. He wanted to unite the English-speaking world. As one of Prussia's bosses had said that the most significant part of the 20th century, a century that had just begun, was that Americans spoke English.

Despite a lot of hesitance on America's part, Anglophobia dissipated in the North American industrial power. Trade started up, as did movement between the people.

Britain saw him more frequently in the next 5 years than he had the entire 19th century. They were slowly getting on better terms with one another, no small feat for two nations that had been so close, only to fall so far away from one another.

America was over at his place for dinner one day, humming to himself as he looked at the food England's servants had prepared for them that day. "Thank God you didn't cook that." He teased the older nation, who was irked by the statement.

"Watch it boy, you didn't say a word about it as a child." England muttered, rolling his eyes as he put his napkin in his lap. His shoulders were back, proper, while America looked entirely relaxed in his chair, his eyes bright, his smile real. It was no small feat that America looked this happy in England's presence, it had not been too horribly long ago that England had to deal with the idiot throwing paper at him behind his back, and pretending not to think England hadn't caught him….

"Well, might have something to do with how you didn't take criticism well." He said, his mouth tight, his eyes looking to England like England knew precisely what he was talking about.

Britain gave him a nasty glare, muttering that he took criticism _just fine, thank you very much._ America chuckled lightly. "Suuuure, England." The aforementioned man looked confusedly at him. Did that twat finally use his name, rather than his collective name...? He wasn't going to argue, though.

He responded by tapping his spoon on his teacup. "Oh, do quiet down, and eat, will you…?"

America grinned, before he ate ravenously, more than happy to, honestly. England's eyebrow twitched in annoyance, as did the left corner of his mouth, but he maintained his silence. It wasn't really his place to correct him anymore, was it?

"Mattie and I are talking again." America said, lightly, clearly unsure of how England would respond to that. After a second of thinking, he put two and two together.

"Ah…Canada and you are…?" He asked, uncomfortable with the use of the rather informal name that his colony was named partially by France, and partially by England.

"Yeah. Matt and I made up." He nodded, sighing. "Well, actually we did that awhile ago, neither of us were sure how you'd react to knowing that we were speaking again." America looked up to the ceiling. "But I mean, is it that bad…? Were we just supposed to never speak to our twin ever again?"

England looked to the side. "No, I suppose not." Though he was slightly jealous the two of them got back together sooner than he had with America… But he supposed not having destroyed that bridge would have been in his interest if he wanted Alfred to continue talking with him. And truly, it hadn't been destroying the bridge. It had been destroying the bridge with a child on it, and then kicking a puppy over the edge of the bridge. No matter. These things shouldn't be held to by nations like themselves. It was the bigger picture that mattered.

"Good! I can tell him you're fine with it when I get back home!" He grinned, his smile bright, his face getting smile lines. England grumbled.

"Why do you insist on using a name only meant for humans?" England asked, out of curiosity. "I don't even know what my _neighbors_ human names are…"

America's eyes widened. "What!? You don't know their names? That's…" He started laughing, completely taking England by surprise. "That actually makes a lot of sense. That's why y'all don't call me Alfred when we're on good terms! Y'all don't even know all of _each others_ names!"

England's ire grew. "Now, we only use those names for mortal affairs…"

"But, don't you see? We ARE mortal." He looked up to England with serious blue eyes, and England realized what Rome meant by being able to tell if a nation had killed one of their own. "In the right circumstances, we die! We're not that terribly different from humans are we, England?" He didn't quite know what to do with the knowledge that this nation with the bright eyes like the sky and such a carefree smile…if that nation, that boy had killed another of their kind. …It didn't sit well with him.

England grumbled. "Well, I suppose you're not…but, we older nations aren't as _human_ as you younger nations are." He turned to the boy, with more than double of America's lifetime under his belt.

America raised an eyebrow. "Sure. Still. What _is _your human name? I'm Alfred F. Jones!"

England grumbled, sneering at him, before he conceded defeat. "Arthur...Arthur Kirkland." He admitted, before his face wrinkled up at the sound of his own name. The boy smiled wider, and seemed to get more daring.

"You know…" He smiled weakly. "I'm not opposed…to getting closer, not anymore." He put his hand on top of England's. "Arthur…"

England ripped his hand away. "Oh, do not dare use that name." He growled. "It's _terribly_ human. Far more so than I am, than I could care to be." He gave him a slightly dangerous look, overpowering his younger companion with the energy of his nation filling the room around them. He almost thought that the boy wouldn't be able to feel it, but he was quickly proven wrong.

The boy's surprised blue eyes had turned calculating, and he smiled a bit, something more deep seated in him rising to the surface, raising its ugly face. "Fine_, England._" He said, turning his head to the side slightly, before lifting it up and tilting it to the side. And quickly, England found himself, the damn British Empire's spirit, being pushed back, and his eyes widened slightly.

"F-Fuck…" He growled. "What _are_ you, precisely? I have felt something in the boy since I met him. But…not to the extent I am now." England's green eyes stared directly into the icy blue ones. "So. What are you?"

"I am…the future." America said, smirking. "You will know me for what I am, one day, and that day is soon approaching. I know the true reason for this…_rapprochement." _He gave him a lopsided smile. "As do you. But this, sadly, will not be enough. You know as well as I do, that Germany is on the rise. You will face him one way or the other, sooner, or _later_." His smile widened, as did his eyes. Arthur saw the cracking of his glasses. "And I will get to watch…watch as you fade away. While _I_ rise to power." He closed his eyes once more. "But, we both have our reasons for this coming together. Mine were certainly less…manipulative."

England sneered. "As if you, a nation on the opposite side of the _damn world_, could overtake the Empire."

"Oh yes, I know the saying." America waved a hand lightly. "The sun never sets on the British Empire." He grinned again, blue eyes opening narrowly. "However…You contacted me for something…." He smiled arrogantly, "_Kesesese, Britain! My awesome little brother will definitely change the world!"_ His smile went back to the smug look. "Or, at least, I think he would say that." The man before him shrugged. "I don't know, you know Prussia better than I do."

England had tensed, America having hit the mark on the head. "Why do you act like this?" England sat down, suspicious of the sudden change in personality.

America laughed. "Something in me broke a long time ago, England. Something that one day, you will come to fear." He smirked again. "But for now, I will let you ruin this once again." He closed his eyes, and his face went slack, before the strong presence left the room, and so England dropped his aura once more, though the hair on the back of his neck crawled.

Blue eyes opened again, the crack in his glasses was gone, and as far as America was concerned, nothing had changed. "Aww, man! Why can't I call you Arthur? It's your name, after all!" He grinned, brightly.

England stared at the man before him, knowing now he was no _boy. _He then decided that he wasn't a threat, and so, rolled his eyes. "I suppose it was my fault, leaving you so _uncivilized_." He muttered, trying to brush away his remaining discomfort. "Generally, we don't use our human names, at all. No other nation will refer to each other as our human name."

The man across from him snorted. "Jus' cause it's always been that way, doesn't mean it always has to be!" He smiled again. "Or, should I call you…" He gave England a playful look, and the Brit tensed.

"Don't you dare." England muttered, glaring him down.

"Artie." He said, and laughed. "Alright then, Artie! Until you start calling me Alfred, I'm gonna call you that!"

"Ugh, brat." He muttered, before the boy started to rub his fist into his head, laughing at him loudly.

"That's not Alfred, Artie!"

XXXXX

Despite…._Alfred's_….insistence they work on getting to know one another, England held the boy at arms length. It was unnecessary to know another nation personally, after all. He knew the boy's financial data, the number of factories he had, his population size, his military strength…what else mattered, but those numbers? Certainly not what the other nation thought of him.

Attempt after attempt to _befriend _him or _something _of that sort, was shot down, and ignored, and occasionally burned in the fire with great pleasure to England.

America was at his door, waiting for him to come out, clearly intent on sitting him out. So, England decided to simply give him his answer.

He walked out, his face carefully trained to be blank, he wouldn't, _couldn't_ allow the boy to see weakness. Alfred smiled up at him, looking a bit awkward. "Heya!" He said, lightly, clearly a little nervous.

Good.

"Ah, America." He said, not even bothering to look at the boy with interest. "It has come to my attention that, perhaps, you were looking to get something out of this that is simply not worth my time. I don't know precisely what that is, but I wanted this relationship simply because of political reasons. I don't _care_ what you want on the personal level." He waved his hand, looking bored. "I am uninterested in _being your friend, _or _knowing you_." He shrugged slightly, intending on silencing this once and for all. "After all, it _was_ you who told me to treat you like another nation. You reap what you sow."

And he turned tail quickly, so as not to see the boy's face, and closed his eyes. Yes indeed, he thought, bitter. You reap only what you sow, England, so you best not regret this.

He heard America leave soon afterwards.

And so, despite Alfred's insistence, the pleasant distance Arthur had between them had become a rift, something that separated them, divided them, _annoyed him._ It was unsettling, seeing as the boy had done one hell of a bad job courting him, if that had been what _that _all was.

And so, with war looming on the horizon, England did his best to try and protect himself and his assets. Prussia and his newly formed brother were raising trouble, but in the end, it wasn't Germany that did it at all. But rather, the tension broke in the form of a bullet in the head of a certain Archduke. And it escalated from there. Austria and his wife declared war on the young Serbia, whose ally, Russia, declared war (despite his own internal problems) on the married couple, whose allies Germany and Prussia declared war on Russia, before France declared war on practically the whole of Central Europe.

Soon enough, the whole of Europe was entrenched in war. England was not excused; biting at the chance to attack once Germany went through his fellow neutral nation to get to France.

And yet, America was rather…disinterested. He summarized this in one line, from one letter, which England felt the terribly strong urge to strangle the boy for. _"After all, it was you who said I was on the other side of the world." _

"Mon ami, we cannot fault him for that." France muttered. "From the sound of it, you were, plainly put, a **dick**." He smirked at his once enemy, permanent rival, occasional…_friend…_despite his loathing of the word used in conjunction with….France.

"Oh, shut it, frog." He said, crumpling the letter before the Frenchman read the rest of his annoyingly unhelpful response to England's telegram. "He _will_ join the war, whether he wants to, or not!" His temper snapped, just as one of his men came in with news.

"Sir! We've intercepted a message from Germany to Mexico!" The man dutifully reported, and England smirked, turning to France with triumph.

"Ugh, you're such a arrogant prick, old friend." France muttered, before turning serious. "At least tell me something I want to know, other than your _pathetic_ love life- have you heard from Russia at all? I've heard…disturbing rumors."

England's expression turned sour. "No, but he best not let it grow further than it has." He said, looking unnerved.

"So you've heard it as well." France asked, expression hardening. "A communist…?"

"Yes, a communist revolution. The communists in my nation are currently talking about it. My state is working on a solution, but I don't think Russia's has the strength to do so anymore."

France nodded, looking to the night sky. "Well, at least as we lose one ally, we gain another."

England scoffed. "Perhaps this one will come with enough weapons for his men…!" He got up, and stormed away, muttering about useless, useless idiots. They were all so caught up in personal affairs. But England had only gotten as far as he had by cutting off those ties. He followed the soldier back to where the man traveling with the message was.

It looked now that _he_ would be joining now, and England smiled to himself.

He'd find a way to control the undeniable strength of his fellow English speaking country, one way or another.

XXXXX

A/N: And so, it ends! (well, actually the age of rapprochement had already finished, but I wanted to include a bit of WWI. Sue me)

Bonus scene:

1948:

It had been a few years since the beginning of the United Nations, and as per Alfred's demands, they had to be known by their human names in public. That had meant a few years of…dreadfully embarrassing nametags. However, this was the first year they didn't have them. Before Alfred launched into the meeting, England turned to France in displeasure, he went to talk to him, but said France instead of his human name.

"Fuck." He muttered. "What _is_ your name?" He looked thoughtful.

"Ugh, Arthur." France said, disdainful. "You've known me for almost your entire existence, and yet you forget my name?"

England didn't bother to answer that; not noticing Alfred's carefully trained blue eyes.

France grumbled. "It begins with an F, for your knowledge."

"Fuckwad?" He asked rhetorically, anger sparking in France's eyes.

"It's not even_ that _different from my nation name!" He growled. "It's _Francis._"

"Oh? Is it?" He smirked lightly. "I don't hear much of a difference between my suggestion and yours."

"WHY, you ignorant, self-serving, _punk_…!" France growled, before pouncing on him, and the two started punching each other, while Alfred laughed in the background.

Alfred looked on at Arthur, who was finally starting to act like a human again. He supposed that Arthur had been right, before. You reap what you sow, and Arthur and Alfred were both guilty of wrecking havoc on the other, all for the purpose of politics.

And that's why Alfred had done this in the first place.

A special relationship, huh? He supposed their relationship _was _special, after all. He sighed, looking to the letter he had written for Arthur over 35 years before. He still carried it with him, ever since that day when Arthur had simply told him that he didn't care. But he had no intention of giving Arthur it now. He went to the restroom, and opened it quietly.

It had been addressed to Arthur, not England. But despite his separation of the two, he knew better now.

"Arthur,

I just wanted you to know, that I still love you. I want something new from this. I want to be seen as your equal, not your lesser. I am not your brother any longer. I want to court you. We are not that different, as nations, we both speak a common tongue outside of the Nation's tongue. I want us to work.

Love,

Alfred F. Jones."

He crumpled it up, and then lit it with a match.

They were different, as nations- Too different, in fact. And there was no way that Arthur could view him as his lesser ever again. Because, Alfred had bested him in every way, finally proven to Arthur that _he_ was the way forward.

He had been innocent, and a fool to trust Arthur Kirkland. Arthur Kirkland was a snake, and there was no changing him. Alfred waited until the paper had burned into dust, before setting the fire out with a single blow, putting out the flames in front of him just as the flames inside.

He was the future, he was America, and he was unstoppable.


End file.
